One Weekend a Month, Two Weeks a Year
by And Your Little Dog Too
Summary: One weekend a month. Two weeks a year. Give us that, said the recruiter, and we'll pay for your education. But they never told me I would be sent to a warzone halfway around the world. Or that I would be held prisoner by an army of ninjas. Or that I would fall in love. Or how much that would hurt. War, Real World, Post-Shippuuden, Character Deaths, OCxHinata
1. Deal with the Devil

**One Weekend a Month, Two Weeks a Year**

* * *

One weekend a month. Two weeks a year. Give us that, said the Army recruiter, and we'll pay for your education. Once I got my Bachelor's, they'd even make me an officer in the reserves. Guaranteed.

The social worker lady told me I was making a deal with the devil. But I told her straight up: when your ass is about to age out of the foster system, the devil's deal was a lot better than no deal at all.

The only hitch was that I had to get a degree in one of their "critical subjects." You know, stuff like nuclear physics and biochemistry and shit like that. I thought I was a goner until I saw that there were some foreign languages I could study.

Saved. I suck at math and science and all that stuff. But talking and writing? That I could do.

College was fun. I mean, it wasn't laugh-out-loud, but it was a lot better than I thought it would be. If you could have seen me in high school, my skinny ass in spiky hair and baggy pants, counting the seconds until detention was over and I could jump on my skateboard and jet, you'd know what a big turnaround _that _was. I guess it was because it was the first time I was going because I wanted to, not because Mister Fosterdad-du-Jour was going to whop me if I didn't.

Don't even ask about the girl situation. To be honest, this place truly was the promised land, overflowing with milk and honeys, but I never got a single taste of it. One look at my ratty hair and second-hand clothes, and the ladies would just turn their heads and walk away. One even told me straight up, "Look, the reason I'm going to college is so that I won't ever _have _to date losers like you."

And then it happened. Midway through my last semester, a guy in an Army uniform came down to the campus, rounded up all us cadets, loaded us onto a bus, and took us to the Processing Station. "Until we get your security clearances squared away," he said, "I can't give you any details." He grinned at us. "But I can assure you, gentlemen, that your country does indeed have a great need for your skills."

They told me I was going west, to the Land of Fire, a place I wouldn't have known about if I hadn't been studying their language. I was going to be part of the first wave, not so much to fight but to act as a translator, telling people why we were getting rid of their daimyo (their word for "lord" or "ruler") and helping them to set up a democracy.

I didn't know if I was more scared or more excited. I mean, I knew it was going to be dangerous, but imagine a guy like me, making history. Being in the middle of it all. Wow.

And then my urinalysis came back. It was hot.

I tried to explain that I didn't actually smoke anything. I mean, there were lots of people at the party who were doing that shit, but I just had a few beers and that was it. Honestly, that was the truth.

Didn't matter. The guy tore my security paperwork in half. And then he tore up my orders. I was still going, of course, but not with the first wave. They needed translators, but without a clearance, I was only of limited use to them. Once the war was over and I returned home, I would be out of the program. If I wanted to finish my degree, I would have to pay for it myself. In fact, they told me, I would have to repay the Army for my whole fucking education, even the room and board.

Shit.

They took the other guys to the airbase. They took me down to the docks. Next thing I know, I'm stuck on a rusty container ship with a bunch of stupid logistics assholes for a long, slow ride into the sunset.

* * *

Next: The Land of Waves


	2. The Land of Waves

**The Land of Waves**

* * *

By the time I stepped off of the boat, it was almost three weeks later. The war was over and the daimyos were long gone. They had even gotten through the first round of elections.

An entire continent, set free, all at once. And I missed the whole thing.

We didn't go to the Land of Fire. Instead, the boat docked at a place called the Land of Waves. It was a cluster of islands just off the eastern coast, connected to the mainland by a long bridge. Apparently, the Land of Fire doesn't have any deep-water seaports, so the second and third waves of troops came here and then drove across on the bridge.

"Kind of lucky for us they built that bridge," I said to the commander when I reported for duty at the 25th Logistics Battalion.

"It wasn't luck," said the colonel. "People have been planning this for a very long time, and the Tazuna Memorial Bridge was just one part of that. And while we're on that subject, you watch your ass out there. Just because the war's over doesn't mean that everything's rosy. Old Tazuna, the guy who built the bridge? Couple weeks ago, they found him in his house, neck cut from ear to ear. A revenge killing. His daughter and grandson, too."

"I thought that everybody was happy we were here."

"Not quite everybody," he said. "There's a few who want to turn back the clock and make everything the way it used to be." He leaned toward me. In a whisper, he said "You know, they're still fighting terrorists in the mountains of the Land of Fire. Other places, too. We're not allowed to talk about that, so if anybody asks, don't tell them I said anything, okay?"

He straightened up and then sat back in his chair. "Anyway, because of that, I'm thinking that Logistics Command isn't pulling us out of here anytime soon. So don't worry about missing all the fun, son. We'll have plenty to keep us busy for the next year, at least."

And when he said "busy," he wasn't kidding. All day, every day, I'm running around, dealing with the locals, bartering with suppliers, and translating just about everything you could imagine from one language to the other. It helped that many of the locals already spoke some of our lingo but the torrent of work was non-stop.

One of our trucks ran over somebody's dog? There I'd be, negotiating the settlement. One of the suppliers decided to grab the cash and make the dash? Afternoon in court, playing prosecutor while the lawyer for the JAG office sits on his fat ass and plays with his phone. Guys don't show up at the docks because it's a national holiday and nobody told the commander (who should have known anyway)? There's me, running around, knocking on doors, trying to get people to get come in and unload cargo for time-and-a-half.

I mean, sure it was hard, but that was just about the best time of my life. Back home, I was just a no-name punk on a skateboard. Here, everybody knew my name. I'm the guy who got things done. I got to help people, and I really, really liked doing that.

There were some parts I didn't care for, like the commander's "errands." Towards the end of that summer, he started having me pick up packages from some shady guy and take them to some other shady guy across town. No questions, no stops, and definitely no peeking. Just grab and deliver. And he needed the translator for this?

The worst one, of course, was the run to the Pink Bunny. Everybody knew that the Bunny wasn't just a bar, it was full-out whorehouse. One night, the commander ordered me to drive there, pick someone up, and bring them straight back. When I asked who it was, he just said, "Same deal as always, kid. Just pick up and deliver. Don't make any stops, don't ask any questions, and..." He got up out of his chair, put his face in mine, and gave me a twisted grin. "...and don't you dare open the package."

I should have said no to that shit. I should have said something. But I didn't. I just saluted, turned around, and followed my orders like always.

At the Bunny, they were expecting me. The moment they saw my truck, they guided me around to the rear. A dozen guys were there. They crowded around the back door, hiding the person who stepped out. A moment later, the door of the cab opened and someone in a white dress, her face hidden beneath a white veil, and got in and sat beside me. Before I could say anything, one of the men banged his hand against the side of the truck and said "Go! Drive!"

I was so taken aback that I just stepped on the gas and headed back to the base. My body felt numb and I tried to keep my eyes on the road in front of me. But I couldn't. The girl beside me was really freaking me out. It wasn't just the veil. It was the way she sat, with her back straight and her head high, like a little queen. And then, of course, there was her body. This was either the shortest, flattest hooker in the business or something very, very wrong.

I hit the brakes, reached over, and yanked the veil off her head. My heart stopped. Part of that was because this was positively the cutest girl I had ever seen in my entire life. A sweet, round face, an adorable mop of short, dark hair, and wide, gorgeous, blue eyes that seemed to look right through me.

But mostly, I was shocked because this girl couldn't have been any older than ten.

For a long moment, we both sat and stared at each other. She seemed to be almost as shocked as I was. When I was able to breath again, I said, "How old are you?"

Those words seemed to break the spell. She sat up straight, clutched her handbag, and stared straight ahead, at the checkpoint for the the base. "Old enough."

"Kid, you have absolutely no idea what you're doing."

"I'm not a kid," she said. "And I know exactly what I am supposed to do." She grabbed the veil from my hand. "Your commander," she said as she started to drape it over her head again. "He is to be my first."

"I'm not..." I shook my head. "I'm not going to let you do this."

She stared straight ahead. "Look, soldier-boy. Your job is very simple. You drive me through that gate, drop me off at the colonel's office, and that's it. I can see myself home. If your conscience bothers you, then do what all your buddies do. Go back to the Bunny, guzzle down a six-pack, grab one of the girls, and-"

I tore the veil off her head and threw it out of the window. "You're not going! And that's final."

For a minute, she glared at me. The space inside the cab began to fill with a kind of dark, venomous energy, as savage as the look in her eyes. It was like being locked in a small cage with a large tiger.

Just as I was about to shit my pants, I saw the look in her eyes flicker, just for a moment. The evil feeling disappeared.

She looked down at the floorboards for a moment. Then she reached for the door handle.

As she was leaving, she stopped and turned her head just enough to glare at me from the corner of her eye. "You're not my father," she said. "So stop acting like you are."

And then she disappeared into the night.

For a full minute, I sat there, listening to the engine, not sure what I should be feeling or what I should do. Then some asshole pulled up behind me and honked his horn. I put the truck in gear and stomped n the gas pedal.

I was mad. I was madder than mad. I told the guys at the checkpoint that I needed the military police and they pointed me to the MP station.

I told the sargeant at the MP desk everything I knew, not just the stuff about the girl but about the "errands" and all the shady things the commander was making me do. When I finally got everything off my chest, the sargeant made a call and then he followed me down to the commander's office.

When I walked through his door with the police in tow, he didn't look surprised. Instead, he looked pissed.

"Didn't think it was possible," he said. "But you, young private, have made it to the top of my shit list. Not only did you lose the girl, but I got a call from the Pink Bunny. They said she never came back. They said it was all my fault and they want me to pay them a metric shitload of cash to recover their investment."

I couldn't believe he was admitting all this in fornt of an MP. Then I look back at the sargeant. He's leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, giving me a dirty look.

The commander got out of his chair and walked over to me. "Normally, when somebody makes it to the top of my shit list..." He nodded at the sargeant. "...I have my boys take him out on a little fishing trip. You know, five men go out, four come back." He shrugged his shoulders. "You've been to college. You can do that math all by yourself."

He turned and looked out of the window. "Trouble is, kid, you're my translater. You're my go-to guy. The one who gets things done. The one who understands all this ching-chong shit they say." He turned his head to look back at me. "They trust you. And so far, that's been the one thing that money hasn't been able to buy."

"I'm done," I said. "I don't want anymore to do with your criminal bullshit."

The commander looked out of his window again, staring at the Tazuna bridge, watching the taillights of the trucks as they crossed into the Land of Fire. "Look, son, my story's the same as yours. Four years in the Academy, decent GPA. Could have written my own ticket. Could have been officer in the Infantry. Airborne. Special Ops. The very tip of the spear."

He reached up, grabbed the edge of the curtain and yanked it across, covering the window. "But all I got was the shaft. Night before finals, my buddies got me stinking drunk. By the time I woke up, the exams were over. And so was my career. When I got my orders, I was assigned to Logistics. The lowest rung on the fucking ladder."

Then he turned to face me again. "So what does a Logistics officer do, I asked them. And they told me this: when people need things, you get them. And that's exactly what I do. Army needs a thousand cases of toilet paper? Yessir, rightaway, I get them one thousand cases. And for doing that, they give me a shitty little paycheck every couple of weeks."

He crossed his arms. "Turns out, there's a lot of people who need things. Girls, guns, drugs. For them, however, when I do my duty as a Logistics officer, the pay's a lot better. It's a win-win situation, In the end, everybody gets everything they need."

"This have a point, sir?"

He leaned toward me. "My point is, why should you be left out? I know what you need. You need some well-connected individual to act on your behalf." He reached over his desk and tapped a file folder. "I can do that for you. But that's only if you get with the program. You do what I say, when I say. When you've earned enough to pay me back for the girl, I'll get rid of your drug test. Like it never happened. When we get home, you can go back to college. Become an officer. With your GPA, though, you'll probably get sent to Logistics, just like I did."

He grinned. "But that's okay. Next war, you'll be the one making bank. So how about it? We got a deal?"

I stared down at that file folder for what seemed like a thousand years. Every night, I prayed for the same thing. And now the colonel was going to answer that prayer. All for doing what I'd always been doing.

Then I pictured the girl. Those big, beautiful eyes, That sweet face. And how the look on that face changed as the commander started to run his hands along her body, feeling her skin, reaching down to her-

"Fuck you," I said. "You and your fucking deal."

"Have it your way," he said. Then something crashed against the back of my skull.

* * *

Next Time: The Land of Fire


End file.
